


Christophis

by ramesses



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: Clone Wars (2003) - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Hurt No Comfort, Mind Games, Mind Manipulation, Mind Wash, Psychological Torture, Violence, no happy ending
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-02
Updated: 2018-01-03
Packaged: 2019-02-27 06:43:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13242696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ramesses/pseuds/ramesses
Summary: Slick wakes up and cannot remember anything about himself. Everyone he encounters refuses to communicate with him.The Kaminoans told the Republic the punishment would make him an example.





	1. Chapter 1

Static. Discordant static broken into uneven pieces and made up of bright colors jarred him awake.

He took in one rasping inhale, which next dissolved into a mess of stuttered breaths that left his chest shuddering. His throat ached. It felt scraped clean of any moisture. There wasn’t any saliva in his mouth for him to swallow and ease the sting.

Then, he opened his eyes.

A white light blinded him. _Kriff_ , it was painful. Not as bad as his throat, but the difference wasn’t much of a comfort. He squeezed his eyes shut again, watering behind the lids. He wasn’t ready for that yet. The top of whatever he was sitting on was cutting into the back of his neck, so, with some effort, he lifted his head. No such luck there, either. His head pounded, and he let out a choked groan that made his voice crack. The muscles of his neck gave out, and he let his head drop down to his chest, chin pressed against it. Inhale, exhale.

Faster came the breaths.

 _I don’t know who I am._ His first thought since the static. _I don’t know … who I am._ The sound of his breathing becoming a wheeze seemed too much, felt like too much. _Don’t know._

There was a pitch-black void inside of his mind, empty. No memories, not even a name. Did he have a name? _I don’t remember anythin’._

It hurt, it hurt. He wanted to stop breathing. Maybe if he sat there with his eyes closed long enough, he’d die. It felt like his temples were going to explode.

After a second squeeze with quivering lids, he forced his eyes open. It took several burning blinks before the light seemed to dim, and he could finally see. White walls surrounded him. It wasn’t all that helpful. His temples throbbed, making him squint and flinch sharply. He raised a hand towards his head, arm half-shaking – pausing just before he did.

There was some cloth wrapped tightly around his wrist. He checked the other one. Same deal. Were they bandages? Why were his wrists bandaged?

He gripped one of his wrists, flexing his fingers. His stomach clenched, but there wasn’t any pain.

A flash of static made him hunch his shoulders quickly, holding his breath. It was in his head.

One eye opened, then the other.

Something was humming in front of him, low and barely audible. His brows pinched together. A holo-transmitter? It was sitting on a small white table. Seemed pointless to remember, and if his lips didn’t feel so cracked, he would have scowled. The blue image it projected onto the wall behind it didn’t mean a damn thing to him, either. Two thick, diagonal lines, angled in toward each other, but not touching.

 _Doesn’t mean anything._ Inhale, exhale as he dropped his head into one hand, rubbing his temples ferociously. Needed to ease the throbbing so his stomach would stop churning. _Not a thing._

Static, an assortment of shattered images. _It hurts._ He can’t see the white walls anymore, and for a moment, he thinks he sees the diagonal lines, but in-between them is a smiling mouth.

It took every bit of strength to open his eyes again, even though he didn’t remember closing them. The holo-transmitter. He had to turn it off, to make the picture go away. Kriff, anything to get it away. His sweaty hands grip the arms of the chair and he scrambles to get out of it, pushing himself forward. Something beneath one of his feet makes him lose his footing, knees slamming into the floor as he falls.

That hurt, too, and took his breath away, but he’s already crawling on all fours to the small table, grasping clumsily at the holo-transmitter. The first few grabs, he misses. Grunting desperately, he finally has it in his hand, and his thumb is jabbing at the buttons – any button, it had to be one of these buttons – to turn it off.

It’s the third one he tries. The image fizzles, then disappears, taking the hum with it. The ragged exhale of relief he lets out seems too loud.

Dropping to his forearms, he panted, attempting to catch his breath as sweat dribbled down his forehead. It still hurt to do that, to breathe. He needed some water.

 _Who am I?_ A cough, which only made it worse, and the hurt noise he lets out is shameful. _Where am I?_

Slowly, he glanced over his shoulder, eyes lowering to the floor to see what he tripped over. It was a bottle, opened. Scattered around it were tiny red pills. A few had been crushed beneath his other foot, leaving a powdery residue that stained the white floor. He hunched over again as his stomach convulsed, forcing himself to swallow back down the bitter taste that had flooded his mouth. It was startling that anything had come up at all.

The smeared powder reminded him of _blood_.

Gripping the edge of the table and groaning hoarsely, he brought himself up to a wobbly, decidedly unstable stand. His head swam, but it’d have to do.

_Got’a figure out where I am._

Anything to do with his head created waves of pain, but he managed to turn it to one side.

On the nearest wall that direction hung a mirror.

He took slow, cautious steps towards it, then bent over slightly as he peered at himself.

He had short, dark hair, and he could see that the lower part of his scalp had been shaved. His eyes were a much lighter brown, maybe amber. His skin also had a dark tint. Pursing his dry lips, he ran his fingers along his jaw, feeling the shape of his face, needing to verify what he saw. A part of him didn’t believe it. Was that really him? Coarse fingers rubbed over his cheekbones, then through thick, cropped hairs.

Then, his hand dropped to his chest.

His clothes were even _less_ telling. They were black and fitted, and in the center was some grey symbol. It wasn’t the diagonal lines. This was different. For one, it was circular. He traced it slowly with his index finger, heart beating fast. This seemed familiar, somehow. _I think I know this._

Pain. Static jolting through his mind.

He didn’t have the strength to cry out, just to stumble and grab at the back of the chair behind him so his legs wouldn’t give out under him.

 _Thirsty. So kriffing thirsty here._ Again, he didn’t realize he had closed his eyes till he peeled them open. Shoulders tensing, he quickly averted his gaze from the mirror, panic making his chest feel tight. No more. Enough of that. _Enough of my face._

It was time to look at the other side of the room.

There was another table, much larger than the other one. Bleary eyes landed immediately on the short glass of clear liquid that sat in the center. Taking large, forward steps, he lifted it carefully off of the table. He didn’t want to spill a drop, not even the smallest bit. It still wasn’t enough. It wet his throat when he gulped it down, nearly choking on it, but the thirst still had his head buzzing. Coughing, he wiped his mouth off with the back of his hand, wetting his lips with a quick swipe of his tongue.

The wall next to the table had a screen on it. The two diagonal lines flashed and flickered on and off. He half-wondered if the thing was broken. Half, because he didn’t actually care. It didn’t matter. He leaned over to turn it off anyway, flinching slightly as if he expected it strike him before he pressed the button. It crackled, then turned off.

His entire body felt heavy. Swaying just a little, he braced himself against the table’s edge. His gaze drifted aimlessly over its surface till it caught sight of something. It was turned over so its white side almost caused it to blend in with the table. He was tired of looking around, and almost decided to ignore it, but his willfulness didn’t last. Stretching forward, he grabbed it, pinching it between two figures.

It was a photograph. No – a sketch.

It was a sketch filled with people who all had the same face as him. His temples pounded. The same face, but different, too. There was something different with each of them. Five faces. He saw himself drawn behind all of them, and he wasn’t smiling like they were.

Brothers.

_Smiles, one of them laughing, the strong scent of metal and cleaning solution._

“ _Ah_ ,” he breathed out, a hand jerking to massage the side of his head as the pain from the images pulsed down his body. His knees tremored once before he locked them stiffly in place.

_Who am I? Who are they?_

There was a new objective now. He needed to get out of there.

Crumbling up the drawing within a white-knuckled fist and shoving it into a pocket he felt for at his hip, he moved around the table, approaching what looked like to be the door. It was. It _swished_ open as soon as he was in front of it.

He peered out cautiously, his heart thumping rapidly. All he saw was a large hall that was the same white color as the room he was now taking slow, weak steps out of. There was no one in sight.

“Blast,” he muttered.

 _I got’a find someone._ The door _swished_ shut behind him once he was out. The chillier air cooled the sweat on his face, and he brought up a hand to wipe it off his upper lip as he swallowed thickly. _Got’a find anyone._

He had no other choice but to start walking down the hall.

He could feel it curving gradually as he made his way. He passed quite a few doors, too, but none of them opened. Stopping at one, he banged his fist against it.

“ _Hey_!” he croaked, “Anyone in there?”

Silence. It was all silent.

He hung his head for a moment, mind racing. He couldn’t be alone here. He couldn’t. He didn’t want to be.

Behind him, there was a muffled laugh.

Whipping around – eyes blurring, he had moved too fast and his body was punishing him for it – he spotted the shape of something just as it darted around the curve down the hall.

“Wait!” he rasped out, barely able to shout. “ _Hey_ , you!”

Running. Running down the hall as fast as his legs would take him, rounding it, and stumbling to an immediately halt.

“Wha …?”

People of various species lined either side of hall’s walls. He sucked in a breath, and their heads turned quickly. Every single eye was on him. A Twi’lek tittered. An Umbaran snickered, and leaned towards the other at his side, but said nothing.

Relief made his shoulders sag, a sheepish grin coming over his lips, quirking them upward. He took a step forward.

“ _Finally_ ,” he said hurriedly, “Thought I was alone here. I could use … some help …”

His voice drifted. Not one in the long lines had said anything when he started speaking. They only continued to stare hard at him. Sick apprehension twisted in his gut, but he tried again.

“Y’know where this is?” No answer. A Rodian smiled. “Look, do any of you know who I am? Can’t … seem to remember a thing,” he admitted weakly. Silence.

Suddenly, somewhere amidst their bodies, something _beeped_. Heavy footsteps began to echo around the hall. He tensed, stumbling around in a circle as he moved to look behind, then back in front.

“What’s happening?” His voice cracked there. Still dry-mouthed. Nothing from the people. “What’s going on? _Please_ ,” he breathed. All he received were amused smiles.

Step, step, step, step.

“Why aren’t you lot saying a damn word?” Fear. The words were half-whispered, hushed as if he thought that maybe if he got quiet, whatever was coming wouldn’t come.

It was hopeless. It was all hopeless. That's what he was telling himself.

Their heads turned to the opposite direction down the hall, where a figure was rapidly approaching. It seemed to be a tall Siniteen.

He took a step back.

The Siniteen took even quicker steps forward.

He was wearing a black mask over his face. It had those same two diagonal lines stitched on either side of where his mouth would be.

 _Maybe it’ll work out. He could be here to help._ He raised his eyes slightly, his face tensing. Despite the thought, he still took another small step back. He wasn't placing a lot of confidence in himself. _Don’t have to say anything till he gets here._

_“You don’t have to say anything till the Jedi get back and talk to y'ah.” It was his own voice, and his hand was on the shoulder of one of the guys that had his face, but different. It was all working out. Framing Chopper would be easy with that attitude._

Pain, pain. It seemed like the pain would never go away. He massaged his temples with both hands as he hunched over slightly, gasping out as a grunt caught in his throat.

When he looked up again, there was a blaster aimed at him.

His eyes went wide, body stilling.

 _Move,_ he thought, _move!_

It fired. The laser hit the floor a few centimeters in front of his feet.

After what seemed a dozen rotations, he finally did.

The muscles of his legs protested the movement, and at first, he fell, the skin of his hands slapping against the smooth floor as he caught himself before it was his face that hit. His hips weren’t so lucky, and he cried out sharply, spasming. Laughter of all pitches burst out around him, crowding his hearing.

 _Get up!_ The soles of his feet scrambled for any kind of footing as he blindly propelled himself forward, managing to get to stand as he felt the heat from another shot from the blaster whiz past his right arm. The laughter only got louder, even as he ran down the hall in the opposite direction.

He could hear the man running after him. Step, step, step came the heavy footfalls, timed with the erratic _ba-dump, ba-dump_ of his heart.

Faster. His lungs were already burning. _Got’a get out of here._

Another shot. It missed.

Another. It missed – barely.

All the white doors looked the same. Had he already passed the room he had walked out of?

More people were beginning to poke their heads out of the different rooms, saying nothing, but watching with those same amused faces.

“Hey!” he panted out, “ _Hey_ , you!”

His fumbling legs stopped in front of one of the open doors. “You’ve got’a help me,” he breathed hurriedly. “Some guy’s got a _blaster_ and he’s firing at me.”

Nothing.

“No, no, _no_ –” He grabbed at them, but they only took an easy step back. “ _Please_ , you don’t understand –”

This time, the shot brushed his bicep. The skin burned like it was on fire. More pain, that never-ending pain.

He let out a cracked shout, grabbing at his arm with his other hand and squeezing. Burning, _it burned_. The squeezing didn’t help. Sweat got in his eyes, and he blinked against it, looking over his shoulder with a dread that weighed him down.

The Siniteen was fast approaching, blaster aimed right at him. Behind the Siniteen – a hoard of the species he had seen lined up along the walls. They were all staring at him curiously, elbowing each other to stay in the front.

“ _Help me_ ,” he pleaded hoarsely, sucking in wheezing breaths. “What the hell is going on?”

He saw the man’s finger go to the trigger.

Heavy as his legs felt and as nauseated as the smell of his own burnt flesh made him, he sprinted forward anyway. He was just glad he could still _move_.

“No, no,” he panted under his breath, “ _no, no_ –”

Suddenly, the hallway opened into a large, dome-shaped room. Across it, several more hallways led to places that he didn’t know where, and didn’t think he had the strength to find out. His head was throbbing, he was surrounded by the smell of burning, and his legs wobbled. He was going to _die_.

_I’m going to die not even knowin’ my name._

“– Hurry!” 

A voice. Not his. Kriff, the sound of another voice was the best thing he'd ever heard.

At one side of the space, there were two figures – a Gran female, and a human male. The voice belonged to the Gran.

“Hurry _up_! Can’t you get this door open?” she hissed.

Door. A door?

“Shah'dup already!” the male spat back. “I’m _trying_ , I just need to –”

A fired blast caused all three of their heads to turn.

“He’s coming, c’mon!” the Gan hissed to the human. “C’mon!”

“ _Wait_!” he called out, and their eyes fell on him. Stumbling forward, he extended a quaking arm towards him. Every wheeze makes his chest hurt. “ _Please_ , wait, you’ve got – ”

There was a _swish_. The door opened, and the sound of heavy rain mixed with the constant rumble of thunder filled the dome-shaped room. The pair weren’t waiting. The human yanked a bag off of the floor and ran out into the rain. The Gran followed close behind, nearly stepping on his heels.

“Close the door, close the door!” he could hear her shouting.

 _Don’t leave me._ He’s so close, so close to making it out that door after them, but it’s beginning to slide shut. _Don’t, don’t do that. Don’t leave me here._

He sticks his hand out as a last attempt, and catches the door just before it shuts. It hurts his fingers, but _everything_ always hurts now, and he can’t get dizzier than he already feels. It’s all he remembers.

“Wait,” he rasped defeatedly. He can hear the blaster going off behind him, but he’s not hit. Through the slit, he can see the human frantically hitting a large button. _He’s tryin’ to shut the door on me._ Grunting, he did his best to pull on the door with his one good arm. It was beginning to budge. Something kicked him in the shin, however, and he almost buckled.

“Kick 'im!” the human was insisting. “Like a Felucian leech he is, I can’t get th'bloody door closed!”

“Don’t do this,” he managed to beg, a part of him wondering if they could even hear him over the rain. “ _Don’t_ , please, help me –”

Perhaps it was all the button pushing that confused the wires, but the door suddenly slid open enough for him to wiggle through, and end up on the other side. He fell – flat on his face, this time, the wet metal of the ground beneath him soaking into the front of his blacks and splashing against his cheek. The rain from above soaked the back.

He shut his eyes as tightly as he could. The fear he felt was poignant, but all he wanted to do was rest.

 _Got’a keep moving._ He extended his good arm, scraping blunt fingers against the ground as he tried to drag himself forward. Too slippery. He couldn’t get a grip.

Lifting his head, he opened his eyes again, squinting through the sheets of rain. Ahead of him ran the Gran and the human. 

_Don’t know if I can get up again._ With a weak grunt, he rolled onto his back. Unrelenting rain spat onto his face. It was dark above, covered with clouds, and lit only by the occasional flash of lightning that shot across the grey sky. His hand drifted to his hip, to the slight bulge in his pocket where the sketch was. _I’m someone. Out there, I have brothers, brothers that know me._

_How’d I get here?_

A bang sounded at the door.


	2. Chapter 2

Bang, bang, bang.

The will to move had vacated him. His shoulders tensed, nostrils flaring with each rapid inhale he sucked in. The unrelenting drops of rain clung to his lashes, and he had to squint when he lifted his head to glance at the door. Muscles quivering, he dropped back down.

 _That Siniteen is trying to get the door open._ His fingers curled into fists, then released. _Can’t even get out of the way._

“Th’hell is wrong with you?”

He blinked, and found himself staring up into the face of the human male that had ran off with the Gran. Most of the guy’s head was obscured by a soaked turban that clung to the sides of his cheeks and over his forehead. He opened his mouth, but not a single word came out. Gaping, he tasted rain on his tongue.

“Don’t just lay there gapin’ at me like an _opee fish_ ,” the man snapped, “get up before he gets tha’ bloomin’ door open! You lookin’ t’get shot?”

“No,” he breathed, and the man’s expression turned doubtful.

Bang, bang.

The man jerked his head up, his eyes narrowing at the door.

“Almost through,” he muttered. “Sorry, darlin’.” Taking a step back, he shrugged his shoulders. “Saving myself comes first.”

 _He’s leaving me,_ he thought immediately, _he’s going to leave me here._

“Wait!” he sputtered desperately, grunting as he twisted to roll onto his stomach. Heavy, so heavy. Was it normal for a body to feel so heavy? It felt like this had been going on for rotation after rotation. He reached out his good arm, clawing at empty air. “No, _wait_ , I –”

_“How could you do this to your brothers?” someone asked. Indignation swelled within his chest as his upper lip curled. He scoffed. “Only a Jedi would ask that,” he retorted spitefully. The faces that were identical to his were behind him, and one was tightening the grip he had on his arm, pushing it up his back._

The static. It hurt. The fragmented pictures in his head brightened sharply in color, then disappeared with a blink. It left him hunching inward on the wet steel as he sucked in and let out shaky breaths.

“ _Please_ ,” he murmured hoarsely. _Guy probably can’t hear me now. He’s already walked away._

He shut his eyes tightly as the banging on the door became louder. Suddenly, he heard a resigned sigh above him.

“I’m going to regret this,” the man was muttering, shaking his head. “Luggin’ around some man-child. Oi! If you can open y’er eyes, you can raise y’er arm. I’m not lookin’ to lift you up like some wee babe. Y’er the farthest thing from a babe I’ve ever laid my two eyes on.”

Blinking, he stared up at the man, an uncomprehending expression on his face. He didn’t get it. The other had his arms crossed over his chest, and was tapping his foot expectantly as the rain poured down on top of them.

Bang, bang!

The effort nearly took his breath away, but he pushed himself up onto his forearms, pressing his lips into a thin line as he ignored the throb from his struck bicep. He lifted one hand feebly, and the man wasted no time in grabbing it and hauling him to a stand. The rain spun around him, leaving him staggering. He could hear the man mumbling under his breath as he threw his arm around his shoulders, keeping him upright.

“ _Thank you_ ,” he was trying to pant to the man, but the other was ignoring him. “Thank you –”

“If y’don’t _shut up_ –” The words “shut” and “up” were dangerously punctuated. “Then I’ll throw you over the edge into the water an’ let them pretty eels play with you.”

At the mention of water, he dared to glance over the edge.

Water rippled savagely against the supports that kept the path they were on raised. Wave after wave crashed down, beating the poles. He tightened his grip on the man’s shoulder, fisting the soaked cloth of his clothes as he quickly averted his eyes. The path was leading to a large, circular platform – a dead end. The man had quickened his pace, and his own had become a hobble in order to keep up.

 _Just need to rest._ He glanced over his shoulder, peering through the sheets of rain. It couldn’t break through that door, could it?

Wrong. Incorrect assumption. 

The metal was bowing under the pressure of the blows, its center distended and becoming more-so with every steady hit. His heart pounded inside of his chest in a way that made him feel bruised.

“Will you stop clutchin’ me like that?” the man whined, “Kriffin' useless clone –”

 _Clone?_ A burst of unidentified emotions flooded him, but there wasn’t time to ask. The question died on his lips when the sound of metal crashing and skidding made the man freeze.

A string of whispered curses left the other’s mouth before he suddenly yanked him down behind a stack of large boxes. He didn’t see the Gran. There were a few stacks like the ones they were hiding by scattered around the platform, and in the center, what looked like a small ship.

 _I can get off. I can get off this blasted planet._ When he tried to stand again, the man dragged him back down, grabbing at his burned arm. Pain made him shut his eyes and go limp, whimpering gruffly. Hurt. The man didn’t seem to care, and he only tightened his hold till he flinched. He gritted his teeth, glaring.

“Yeah? You don’t like that, _do you_ , darlin’?” the man mused quietly. “That’s what you can expect if you don’t keep y’er head down. Keep that mouth shut while y’er at it. Not such a _slick_ one, are you?” Suddenly, his eyes raised solemnly. “… The Hunter’s coming.”

Even amidst the sound of heavy rainfall, he could still hear those heavy steps approaching the platform.

“He’s going to find us,” he hissed.

The man shushed him. “What’d I say? Mouth _shut_. Maybe he’ll be as clueless an’ _stupid_ as you, if we’re lucky.”

Something in the man’s voice told him he already knew he wasn’t.

He was peering over the top of one of the boxes, and he cautiously did the same. He had something indignant he could have said back, but the prospect of further pain kept his mouth clamped shut. Glaring was his only weapon. It wouldn’t take down the Hunter.

That mask. The two diagonal lines. Behind the Siniteen, he spotted the Gran peeping over a cluster of boxes a few meters away.

The man was shaking his head. “Don’t do it,” he heard him mumble, “Don’t do it. Stay down, beautiful.” When the Siniteen turned a different direction, the Gran started to raise some, exposing herself more and more. Something was clenched in one of her hands. “Stay down,” the man continued to insist to himself. “ _Keep hidden_ …”

The grip on his bicep was becoming startlingly painful. Seeing spots, he pulled insistently on the man’s fingers, staring at him meaningfully. He didn’t receive a reaction, even when he furrowed his brows together and jerked his head to motion at his arm. _Ba-dump, da-dump._ The Hunter was nearing their hiding place. His eyes darted imploringly to the man, but he only continued to stare right at it from his shadowy look-out. They needed to _move_ , or make a break for it, but his legs still felt like spice-jelly. Was he shaking?

He felt around his hip for his pocket, and pulled out the sketch with damp, trembling fingers. The angle of the boxes provided some relief from the rain so he could glance at it without ruining it.

His eyes drifted over the smiling faces, his chest tightening. Brothers? Clones?

 _Somewhere, I’m part of something. Who am I?_ His thumb rubbed over one of the faces, eyes lowered.

“Great, here comes this lot,” the man groaned quietly.

Lifting his eyes again as he shoved the picture back into his pocket, he peered around the edge of a box, starting violently at the sight. That same group of people now littered the path back to the inside, all holding transparent umbrellas and craning their necks around each other. They stood just as before, silent. Watching.

“The hell is _going on_ –” he had started to say, rising hysteria in his tone, but the man clamped a hand around his mouth and squeezed, pulling him back beside him. He didn’t resist, sinking in his spot.

_They’re just standin’ there, watching like it was some damn show._

He swallowed down the bile that came, and the man made a face. He didn’t let go off his mouth, though.

A feminine shout rang out in the rain-filled air. Both he and the man stood up abruptly to see the Gran charge the Siniteen Hunter with what looked like a large piece of metal. She brought it down hard towards his shoulders, but the Hunter side-stepped the attack, and she teetered forward when she missed.

“ _Now_!” the man was shouting in his ear. “Run for it! Run like y’er stupid life actually depends on it!”

He did.

Everything became a blur. They were shoving through the crowd, pushing people out of the way who seemed to refuse to do so. He could hear the Hunter’s blaster firing several times, and he would have stopped if the man wasn’t dragging him on by his hurt arm.

“We should go back,” he panted as they passed through the doorway, dripping puddles onto the white floor. “Your partner – what about your partner?”

“What the kriff do _you_ care?” the man scoffed, monotonous as he jerked around to face him. A sneer, however, worked its way onto his lips. “All you care about is good ol’ _you_ , isn’t that right?”

“I – I –” he stuttered, blinking. “I – I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about,” he finally managed to spit back. He didn’t know anything. There was nothing.

The man’s face became disinterested, and he glanced over his shoulder. “He’s coming,” he announced, wiping the rain from his face. “Time to be off.”

Dread and the cold wetness of his blacks gave him a painful rise of goosebumps over his skin. They ran across the room and into one of the many hallways. The man stopped him, however, and instead jerked him sideways so his back hit one of the hall’s walls. The other pressed to it as well, shoulder to shoulder with him.

“What’re you _doing_?” he snapped at him, his voice wavering as leftover rain dribbled down his nose. “This isn’t a kriffing hiding place.”

The man didn’t say a word.

All of the sudden, the Gran stumbled into the room. Neither of them moved, staying hidden in the shadow of the hallway’s entrance. She was clutching her stomach and breathing hard, nearly falling with each step she took.

The Hunter strode up quietly behind her, aimed his blaster, and shot her in the head.

She fell, dead and smoking.

“Damn it,” the man cursed quietly, “Damn.”

The Hunter slowly scanned the room, stopping for a moment at the entrance of the hallway they were hiding in.

That static again.

_He saw a smiling mouth between two dark lines. A face – it flickered in and out of focus, laughing in a way that gave him chills. A blink changed it to his face, his face several times over, looking hard at him._

An acute sharpness hit his temples, and he blinked his wet eyes feverishly to get rid of it.

“C’mon,” the man murmured, starting to take a few steps backwards. “We’ve got’a run.”

The man turned, then stopped.

“Kriff.”

Footsteps, coming from behind them.

“More hunters,” the man explained hurriedly, looking back and forth between over his shoulder. The Hunter was facing away from them, but down the hall, he could see two more masked figures getting closer. One was another masked Siniteen, who was slowly swinging around a large, heavy-looking pipe. He couldn’t tell what the other was, but he heard the sound of a buzz saw whirring.

Digging his fingers into the man’s hand, he yanked it from his mouth, panting his words. “Who are they? Why the hell are they wearing _masks_?” His voice cracked.

“They like scaring people.”

The air left him. “ _What_?” he asked breathlessly. The man didn’t answer.

“We have to run into the next bloody hallway,” he was grousing instead. “All this leg-work will be the death o’ me.”

“ _We can’t_ ,” he almost shouted back, but managed to bring his voice down to a strained whisper. “We can’t. We can’t do that. No, they’ll _see_ us.”

The man grabbed both his shoulders tightly. “We have to, alright? Hey, don’t get even more spineless on me here.” His eyes met his, intent. Lifting one hand, he patted his cheek. “We can do it. Okay?”

“No,” he insisted breathlessly. “ _No_ –”

“Just stay with me, darlin’.”

Despite his head shaking, the other was already beginning to back away.

“Ready?”

He was shaking his head as hard as he could, to and fro, looking at the man with wide eyes.

“Set – go!”

He was surprised when he found himself running behind him. It was _probably_ because the man still had his arm in his hold. He wasn’t sure he would have started otherwise. They went out into the room for half of a second before turning sharply into the hallway next to the one they had been. The other didn’t stop. Running, running for several minutes, running till every breath made his lungs shudder and the sound of his panting and his heart beating filled his ears and drowning out anything else. Suddenly, the man stopped at a door, which _swished_ open. It didn't close once they were in, and the man shoved him hard to the side.

“Keep out’a the doorway,” he quipped. “The Onlookers like to walk by. That’s how those Hunters find us, if my brain’s still as sharp as I think it is. They signal to them, or something _crazy_ like that.” He grinned wryly. “Once those bastards spot you, y’better make a break for it. Don’t think I’ll be savin’ your arse every time you stumble ‘round like a new-born Gungan. Name’s Dengar, by the by.”

“This is …” Weariness pulled him down till he sunk to his aching knees on the floor, hanging his head. “This is …”

“ _Mad_?” Dengar supplied easily. “Insane? Ridiculous? Mental?” He waved a hand. “Take your pick, I’ve got a list longer than my arm.”

Dengar grinned again. He didn’t.

“Oh, lighten up,” Dengar muttered.

“Lighten up? _Lighten up_?” He was raising his voice a little, and Dengar narrowed his eyes. “How the hell am I supposed to _lighten up_?”

“I’ll punch you till you see the brightest kriffin’ stars if you talk any louder.”

He looked away sharply. It would be impossible to see the situation as anything other than _dark_ , as dark as his memories. Dengar sighed.

Memories. Did anyone know him? Wasn’t anyone looking for him?

“I woke up in some room,” he found himself mumbling tonelessly. “Don’t even know if it’s _my_ room. I don’t … I don’t know who I am.” He had to force himself to get it out that last part. Saying it aloud made it feel more like a reality, and he didn't want it to be. Too bad it was. He hesitantly raised his eyes to Dengar, who was looking at him curiously.

“You must know something,” the man insisted, voice disbelieving.

Anger flashed hot inside of him, but, remembering the sketch, he brought it out of his pocket with trembling fingers. “These – I think these are my _brothers_ ,” he explained hopefully, extending his arm towards the other.

Dengar gave it the barest glance. It had several spots of rain on it by now, but it was still mostly intact.

“You don’t know for sure, though?”

“N … No,” he admitted dejectedly, shoving the sketch back into his pocket and resting his hands on his thighs, back curved. Dengar’s gaze had fallen to the soaked bandages on his wrist.

“Maybe you tried to kill yourself,” he suggested mildly. “Think that might explain y’er empty head?”

He slowly raised his face, blinking numbly at him. _All those pills. Did I …?_

Not right.

“Wouldn’t blame you,” the man continued nonchalantly, moving to take a seat across from him. “Had a few companions of mine go out that way. Seemed a might better option after everything that started.”

“Since … _what_ started?”

“You really don’t know?” He shook his head slowly. The man sighed. “Started with a bunch o' flashing holo-transmitters. A symbol. Suddenly, people stopped talkin’. Didn’t seem so bad at first, y’know? Could’ve used some peace and quiet.” Dengar’s face darkened, frowning. “Turned out quite badly, though.”

Static. He flinched, hands coming to his head and pressing against either side. The symbol, the two diagonal lines.

“I saw it,” he breathed. “Saw that symbol.”

Dengar seemed to ignore his reaction. Instead, he leaned to the side to glance out the door, pulling the bag from over his shoulder as he spoke. “Not a single species cared what the hell was happening. They just stared with those dumb eyes of theirs, watchin’. Pretty much everyone here’s like that.”

“ _We_ aren’t,” he pointed out stiffly.

The other chuckled. “Star o’ the class, huh? Yeah, that’s right. _Not us_. Not that Siniteen, either. None of the Hunters. They became somethin’ else once they realized they could do whatever they wanted. Like children let loose in a shop, they are.” Dengar’s eyes met his. “And we’re the toys. It got worse once they had their audience.”

“The signal,” he began slowly, his hands flexing against his thighs, “That signal did all this?” Dengar nodded patiently. “What do we do?” His voice was edging towards hysteria again. “What the hell do we _do_?”

“Quiet,” Dengaer said curtly. “What are you goin’ on about? They keep you in y’er growth tube too long? We don’t do anything. We’re _leaving_ , darlin’.”

He leaned forward, his entire body tensing. “Leaving? Where?”

After rummaging around in his bag, Dengar pulled out a holo-transmitter. He shied away from it, looking away in a panic, but Dengar spoke up assuredly, patting his knee and motioning him back closer with a curl of a finger.

“No, this one’s fine. Got none of that symbol on it. Nicked it and shut off the signal. Don’t worry.” The holo-transmitter came to life, and a blue map shone above. He leaned in warily, glancing at it and Dengar as the man spoke. “We’re here.” He pointed to one of the hallways. “We need to be here.” He pointed a little farther north. “Nothing can transmit there. It’s a safe zone. There’s a good ship, too.”

Somehow, it felt familiar, the way Dengar was speaking. The map, the planning. It reminded him of preparations for battle, though he didn’t know why. Something tugged at his gut. He had something to do with plans, didn’t he?

“There’s a transmitter between us and the safe zone,” Dengar went on. He grinned, flashing his teeth. “We’re goin’ to take it out.” It seemed like it must be a joke, but as he looked Dengar up and down, and Dengar’s grin only widened, he quickly realized he meant it. There was no punch-line. “See, here it is – the transmitter’s called _Christophis_.”

Christophis.

_High glass buildings, the color blue, red laser fire. A red lightsaber to go with that smiling mouth._

He stared at him, cold seeping up his limbs through his fingers. Dengar raised a brow. 

“What?”

“You … _Christophis_.” Dengar’s face was blank. “Christophis,” he insisted, but Dengar didn’t react. “You said Christophis.”

“So what?”

His ears were beginning to ring. Every breath he took was too shallow. Not enough air.

Slowly, he turned his head, and looked into the hall. Two Onlookers were shuffling around in front of their open door, attempting to glance around.

Fury as sudden as lightning took over him, and gave him new strength over his waning muscles. He got to his feet, stepping out despite Dengar’s desperate protests that seemed far away.

_Smiling lips. She was smiling maliciously at him, her arms folded languidly over her chest. “My Master has agreed that you could be of some … use to us.” She was starting to circle him, and there was a heaviness on his shoulders. He could see the faces of his fellow troopers flashing one by one in his mind. For freedom, he thought. They’ll see. They’ll see what the Jedi do to them. When he slowly extended his arm, she dropped a few credits into his hand._

All he heard was the soft clinks of the credits knocking against each other.

_“And all you had to do to get it,” the person with his face said behind him, tugging his twisted arm upward, “was put the rest of us at risk.” The truth. It had been a crime. He hadn’t thought it through. He wasn’t sure he had thinking at all. He stared hard at the Jedi’s feet. This isn’t what he wanted._

Clink, clink.

“Hey, you! Are you _blind_?” he shouted through the throbbing pain. He couldn’t see for a second, and he slammed his shoulder into the door, causing him to cry out. His injured arm. Something warm was soaking into his blacks. Blood. Bleeding? He didn’t stop.

“Get back here, you kriffin’ idiot!” Dengar was yelling. “The hell does ‘Christophis’ mean to you? Damn it, get back in here!”

“You enjoyin’ the show?” he spat at the Onlookers. Both of them smiled. His vision was spotting with red. “You enjoy seeing people die?” Their smiles grew. “I’m not going to be a _slave_ to your entertainment!”

His fingers clenched to become fists that he raised in front of his chest. He swung blindly at one of them, and barely missed, stumbling forward as he threw all of his weight into it. Another wild swing, with both of his arms this time. All he struck was air. They turned and started running down the hall. He was about to chase after them, but had only gotten a few steps before Dengar was suddenly in front of him.

He had a stun blaster aimed at him, his face passive.

“Stand down, darlin’.”

“I just …” he panted, swallowing. His eyes moved between Dengar and the two Onlookers running away behind him. “I just … wanted to know what they’re thinking …”

“Can’t let you do that. It’s dangerous,” he soothed. He took a small step forward. “It’s dangerous gettin’ too close to the buggers. They could transmit their signal into you.”

“ _But_ … I –”

“ _Shh_ ,” Dengar hushed. He was close enough now that the man put a hand on his shoulder. He rubbed circles into it with his thumb. It felt good, and he sagged some, the fury fading to a dull, sick simmer in the pit of his stomach. “That’s better,” Dengar was murmuring, “Good boy.”

He closed his eyes, tilting his head a tad towards the touch. The blackness behind his lids was a comfort. Dengar’s rubbing was better than that. When had he last been touched so gently? At all?

 _Don’t have a memory,_ he thought tiredly, _wouldn’t know._

“That’s a good solider,” Dengar encouraged. “That’s right. Bring it down a notch. You got’a save that strength for the run.”

_“You couldn’t be a greater disappointment.” The Jedi’s voice was stern, and he could hear the anger in it. He wasn’t. Not a bad soldier. He could be more than that._

“This is wrong.” The ringing in his ears increased with the loudness of his voice. “This … this is _wrong_!” he snapped, wheezing as he jerked his shoulder away from Dengar’s hand, stumbling backwards. “This isn’t … this _whole thing_ is –!”

Step, step, step, step.

“They’re coming,” Dengar said flatly. He twisted around to shove the stun blaster back into the bag he had swung over his shoulder again.

He couldn’t breathe, but when Dengar ran past him, he followed.

 _This is wrong._ Pant, pant. _None of this is … right._

_Who am I?_

The hallway branched off into two different directions.

“Which way?” he gasped.

Dengar was biting down hard on his lower lip. “Well …” His voice trailed off.

“You don’t _know_?”

“As if you would with your empty head,” Dengar snapped. “Give me a second!”

The sound of metal scraping against metal grew nearer. Fear had every single one of his nerves firing, and he stepped closed to Dengar, groping for the man’s arm and gripping it tightly.

“This way!”

A new voice. An Arcona strode out from the hallway to the left, motioning hurriedly at them. “This way!” he repeated.

Dengar immediately started forward, but, using his hold on his arm, he pulled him back slightly.

Wrong. _Something is … wrong._

“What?” Dengar asked impatiently. “Let’s go!”

He shook his head, mind racing. _Something doesn’t sit right about this._ He tried to take a step back, but Dengar huffed loudly and jerked his arm out of his hand.

“Look, as much as I love a good dance, this’ll have to wait.” Dengar’s voice was clearly exasperated, but his face hinted something else. He didn’t know what.

“Come on, come on,” the Arcona was urging, “they’re getting closer!”

The other took him by his wrist, and, following the Arcona, they were off down the hall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and kudos are hugely appreciated!

**Author's Note:**

> This is based off of something, but I won't tell you what it is till the end! 
> 
> This is to give myself a mental break from my Anakin/Rex story. Will there be any happy ending here? Maybe, maybe not. I might leave it up to you all once this fic is finished.
> 
> Comments and kudos are hugely appreciated!


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